Embra Polis

[Mrs Pauliebee]

Here's a thought for all the Embra dwellers on the service your boys in blue / black / yellow provide.  True email sent to the force, lengthy but absolutely brilliantly written.....

Allegedly Anonymised correspondence from a member of the public

Dear Sir/madam/automated telephone answering service

Having spent the past twenty minutes waiting for someone at Leith police station to pick up a telephone I have decided to abandon the idea and try e-mailing you instead. Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass this message on to your colleagues in Leith by means of smoke signal, carrier pigeon or ouji board.

As I'm writing this e-mail there are eleven failed medical experiments (I think you call them youths) in West Cromwell Street which is just off Commercial Street in Leith. Six of them seem happy enough to play a game which involves kicking a football against an iron gate with the force of a meteorite. This causes an earth shattering CLANG! which rings throughout the entire building. This game is now in it's third week and as I am unsure how the scoring system works, I have no idea if it will end any time soon.

The remaining five walking abortions are happily rummaging through several bags of rubbish and items of furniture that someone has so thoughtfully dumped beside the wheelie bins. One of them has found a saw and is setting about a discarded chair like a beaver on speed. I fear that it's only a matter of time before they turn their limited attention to the bottle of calor gas that is lying on it's side between the two bins. If they could be relied on to only blow their own arms and legs off then I would happily leave them to it. I would even go so far as to lend them the matches. Unfortunately they are far more likely to blow up half the street with them and I've just finished decorating the kitchen.

What I suggest is this. after replying to this e-mail with worthless assurances that the matter is being looked into and will be dealt with, why not leave it until the one night of the year (probably bath night) when there are no mutants around then drive up the street in a panda car before doing a three point turn and disappearing again. This will of course serve no other purpose than to remind us what policemen actually look like.

I trust that when I take a claw hammer to the skull of one of these throwbacks you'll do me the same courtesy of giving me a four month head start before coming to arrest me.

I remain sir, your obedient servant

?

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**

Mr ?,

I have read your e-mail and understand you frustration at the problems caused by youth playing in the area and the problems you have encountered in trying to contact the police.

As the Community Beat Officer for your street I would like to extend an offer of discussing the matter fully with you.

Should you wish to discuss the matter, please provide contact details (address / telephone number) and when may be suitable.

Regards

PC ?

Community Beat Officer

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***

Dear PC ?

First of all I would like to thank you for the speedy response to my original e-mail. 16 hours and 38 minutes must be a personal record for Leith Police station and rest assured that I will forward these details to Norris McWhirter for inclusion in his next book.

Secondly I was delighted to hear that our street has it's own community beat officer. May I be the first to congratulate you on your covert skills. In the five or so years I have lived in West Cromwell Street, I have never seen you.

Do you hide up a tree or have you gone deep undercover and infiltrated the gang itself? Are you the one with the acne and the moustache on his forehead or the one with a chin like a wash hand basin? It's surely only a matter of time before you are headhunted by MI5.

Whilst I realise that there may be far more serious crimes taking place in Leith such as smoking in a public place or being Muslim without due care and attention, is it too much to ask for a policeman to explain (using words of no more than two syllables at a time) to these tw@ts that they might want to play their strange football game elsewhere. The pitch behind the Citadel or the one at DKs are both within spitting distance as is the bottom of the Albert Dock.

Should you wish to discuss these matters further you should feel free to contact me on ??? ????.  If after 25 minutes I have still failed to answer, I'll buy you a large one in the Compass Bar.

Regards

?

P.S If you think that this is sarcasm, think yourself lucky that you don't work for the cleansing department.

[Johnboy]

Good one... Mrs PB...

So kicking a football around the streets of Embra is liable to have you branded as (a) A failed medical experiment, or (b) a walking abortion or © a throwback.. (d) a mutant...

Wonder what Sophia would make of this..?

:024:

[Mrs Pauliebee]

I was going to take the "abortion" bit out, bit it kinda adds to the writers grumpyness!

Bless him!  :015:

[Caley Mad In Berks]

Allegedly Anonymised correspondence from a member of the public

"Anonymised"  wtf that?  Another new word I never new existed!

Good letter though.  Have you seen this letter of complaint to a train company, which was doing the rounds a while ago?

Great Eastern Railway Ltd.

Customer Service Centre,

North Station, Colchester,

Essex, CO1 1XD

19 December 2001

Dear Sir or Madam:

I write this letter out of anger at the state of the train service currently provided by yourselves.  Today I have come to the end of my tether.  I attempted to phone your customer service number to make a complaint but after being put on hold for 15 minutes I hung up. 

I am in complete disbelief at how you can continue charging so much for such a horrific service and wish to let you in on my average morning:-

Every morning I park my car at Seven Kings aiming to board the 7.53am train to Liverpool Street station however since the trains rarely stick to any kind of time table this is irrelevant.   I work just outside of Liverpool Street station and start work at 9am, this train should pull about 8.15am allowing plenty of time to be in the office well before 8.30am as well as enabling me to purchase breakfast on the way.

I make my way to the platform to find literally hundreds of others standing on the station, indicating that there has not been a train for some time.  I then wait for 10 minutes on the promise of ??the next train arriving at platform 3 will be the delayed 7.02am service (or some such ridiculous time) this train is expected to arrive in 2 minutes??. Five minutes still with no train having appeared I am greeted with the same monotonous voice which I have come to know so well, advising ??the next train to arrive at platform 3 will be the delayed 7.02am service this train is expected to arrive in 2 minutes, this delay has been caused by a signal failure in Greater Manchester??. By this time several thousand commuters are standing on the platform praying that lady luck is shining on them this morning and that when the next train pulls in the doors will by some miracle stop in front of them. 

Several commuters are leaning over the platform edge peering into the distance scanning the horizon for a rare sighting of a Great Eastern train which is virtually unheard of before 10am.  Gasps of surprise spread along the platform when a train is spotted, however most are unsure whether their eyes are deceiving them. Never entirely convinced myself, I pinch my arm just to ensure this isn?t some kind of elaborate dream.   A small waive of joy washes over me as I realise it is a train and not a mirage.   Hooray I should be in work by 9am!!  However, as the train starts to slow and the windows rush past any previous delight (or perhaps relief) experieced was short lived and has dissentegrated to nothing as I realise there is no way on Gods earth I am squashing my massive (note the sarcasm) 9 stone bulk into the 2 inch gap remaining in each carriage.

So pursues my wait for the ?next train? if ever there will be one.  The time now 8.20am breakfast plans are aborted (again) and I realise it is imperative I get on the next train or not only will I arrive at work hungry I will also be late.  The next train pulls in and de ja vu kicks in.  Packed, packed, packed!!!  My fellow commuters (by this time running into millions) look aghast as I stand back about 3 meters, ??what is she doing???.  The train stops and the doors open I take a run up?? a leap??. bang!  Yes I?m on!!  No one can breathe but at least I?m on.  Minor celebrations begin in my head, a small band starts up and I feel rather smug at my good fortune.  Everyone on the train is moaning, but what option to I have?  10% of my salary every month goes on to this service and I believe I have a right (although Great Eastern probably disagrees) to board a train.  Besides what choice do I have I could be there all day!! 

Next challenge, the doors but luckily for me everyone is very experienced and as the familiar beeb beeb beeb sounds everyone inhales and after taking a few blows to either side of my head the doors close and we?re off.  Well actually we?re going about as fast a tortoise with three legs, due to ?adverse weather conditions? which can be translated as ?spitting?.  I suppose this could be deemed as understandable, the train system was designed optimistically I suspect with the expectance of glorious sunshine every day.  I dread to think what will happen if the weather gets really bad, perhaps the ceilings will leak, perhaps they are made from canvas because they omitted to consider external stimuli such as rain, and sleet. God help us all if it snows!

Next challenge ? Ilford.  Not only do I now have a big muddy stain across my cheek and nose where my face has been squashed against the glass but I am fully aware of the fact I will have to fight to keep my place on this carriage especially if anyone wants to get off.  What should be a pleasant journey to work is now more like survival of the fittest.  Other passengers are now not considered as friendly fellow commuters they are the enemy designed to challenge your staying power and threaten your place on the carriage. Fortunately at Ilford no one needs to get off (phew) but now there are about 40 people charging at me who all appear keen to join us on our ?adventure? to work ? 1 lucky man makes it. By this stage the number of passengers present in each carriage is the equivalent of cramming about 100 sardines into a standard sized tin. We are so tightly packed in I cannot move my hands to get a tissue from my pocket to wipe my nose, I can feel a mobile phone vibrating in my pocket which I realise is not mine it belongs to the lady attached to my right hand side.  On top of this the heat is unbearable I have sweat running down my forehead which I am powerless to do anything about.  The 1 inch gap designed to ventilate the trains appear to be more designed as ?a little joke? by Great Eastern, who in the peak of British summer time took great pleasure in permanently wedging then half shut so they open barely a centimetre.  In fact I?m half surprised they haven?t been glued completely shut for additional ?fun?.

Eventually after the train has reluctantly dragged its feet into Stratford, the passengers who have now all bonded together to form a putty like human square burst open onto the platform and now its time for the recovery process.  I take my hair down in an effort to dry the sweat out of it, I try to wipe the mud off of my face, I pick off the snot which has dried in a crusty trail from my nose to my upper lip and also try to regain the use of my body parts which have ceased up due to excessive pins and needles. 

We are then greeted at Liverpool Street station by stadium sized crowds queuing to get through the barriers.   And after this I sprint to work like Linford Christie, scraping in by the skin of my teeth for 9am, looking like I?ve been dragged through a hedge backwards and understandably in a ?great? mood.

A few comments for you to take on board:-

? Don?t add insult to injury by ?thanking us for travelling with Great Eastern?, as its certainly not something 99% of the passengers ?choose? they are just unfortunate enough to live near to one of your dire train stations. 

? Do not ask us to accept your apologies for the delay, you should be apologising  for the abysmal service, the over-packed trains and the extortionate price of travel.

? Perhaps the layout of the trains could be reconsidered, you are never going to be able to provide enough trains, so perhaps you could rip out the seats and everyone could stand up.  You could then sell the seats at a car boot sale and perhaps offer a refund or Christmas bonus type scheme for season ticket holders.

? Why not consider a name change?  I can?t think of a more ill-fitting name than  ?Great Eastern? I should think ?S*y*e Eastern? would be far more appropriate. 

I trust someone will have the decency to read and respond to this letter, and perhaps even consider taking some of my innovative ideas on board.

I look forward to your explanation, and proposed plans for improvements.

Regards,

[Charles Bannerman]

why not leave it until the one night of the year (probably bath night) when there are no mutants around

Guys like that  have a bath as often as that?!

[Mrs Pauliebee]

why not leave it until the one night of the year (probably bath night) when there are no mutants around

Guys like that  have a bath as often as that?!

Hey Big Spender - you speaking to me yet?  :004: :015:

x

[+Gringo]

...failed medical experiments......walking abortions....

I'm going to use those terms in future....